


The Skull Beneath the Skin

by esmeraude



Series: The Skull Beneath the Skin [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: HPFT, Death Eaters, F/M, M/M, Slytherins, first wizarding war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7185281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeraude/pseuds/esmeraude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Beautiful banner by Elenia @ TDA!</em><br/><img/><br/>Fifth year’s barely over, but the future is all everyone wants to talk about. Regulus is determined to outshine his brother. Walden’s planning a marriage that’ll never happen. Tibs wants to be a <em>politician</em>. Becoming the next Bellatrix Lestrange is my goal, and the only one that seems achievable. Yet with the Death Eaters falling like flies, the future looks bleaker than ever.</p><p>
  <em>In five years’ time, we’re all going to be dead.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Skull Beneath the Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Gorgeous CI by Elenia @ TDA!

* * *

* * *

In the end, no-one mourns the wicked.

Father taught me that when I was a child; according to him, I’d always been inquisitive and the circumstances surrounding my grandfather were just another mystery for me to solve. Even at five – or perhaps it was six, I don't recall – I’d noticed that my parents took me to visit family graves biannually, paying our respects as a family to long-deceased Burkes and Blacks and the occasional Fawley, but the name _Robert Hitchens_ was never etched on any of the graves we visited. After a while, I finally asked Father why we never visited my grandfather’s grave, and those seven words were what I’d received in response.

Now, I’d like to think I’ve grown up enough to understand the meaning behind his words. Gran refuses to tell my brothers or I what occurred between them before his death, but from snippets of reminiscing and conversations eavesdropped upon, we’ve learned that when Gran was caught and “burned” at the stake by Muggles, he did nothing to save her. That, coupled with his Mudblood status, is reason enough to pretend he's never existed.

Unfortunately the same can't be said for Aurelius Nott. His coffin is unusually well-balanced as it’s levitated in the air; most mourners are too overcome with grief to concentrate properly on the spell, causing one corner or another to wobble precariously before the other pallbearers pick up the slack, yet Tibs, his Uncle Dionysus, Darius Greengrass, and Lucius Malfoy are all staring at Aurelius’ coffin with matching blank expressions.

This funeral is just an act, a charade to mask what we all know: that nobody here _wants_ to be associated with him. I’m only here because I’m one of Tibs’ best friends. Father is here because he and Dionysus Nott are good friends, and it would attract undue gossip if Mother was not stood by his side.

“Dearly beloved,” croaks the vicar, pausing momentarily to clear his throat before he resumes speaking. “We now commit our brother Aurelius to the ground…”

I sneak a glance at Tibs. Most sons would be sobbing their hearts out at their father’s funeral, but he looks almost bored. In a way, I can't blame him; he mourned his father a long time ago. I’d bet that most of the people here, if not all, are aware of Aurelius’ mistress and started distancing themselves from him when they found out. My parents forbade me from visiting the Nott house once they discovered the affair, afraid that the Hitchens family name would become embroiled in the scandal, although Tibs is still allowed to visit our house. Mother’s convinced that he and I would make a good match, predominantly because she loves the idea of having a politician in the family. I’ve pointed out that Tibs and I are still at school and our aspirations might change in the next two years, not to mention that our brief almost-relationship in fourth year fizzled out when we realised that we were much better off as friends, but Mother happily pretends otherwise.

“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

That’s what we’re all good at. Pretending. Tibs and his uncle are pretending that their father and brother wasn't having an affair with a Mudblood. Lucius Malfoy is pretending that he’s a close friend of the Nott family and wasn't asked to be a pallbearer because no-one else was willing. People gathered here are pretending that we’ve lost someone close to us, that we’re heartbroken at the gap in our lives left behind by Aurelius, entertaining the lies that we’ll visit his grave regularly like the rest of our loved ones when the stark truth is that this is the last time any of us will ever stand at this graveside.

“In the sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life.”

People are starting to fidget now, aware that the service is nearing an end. At least the wake will be less awkward; it’ll be easier to focus conversation on Tibs or Dionysus, or ask questions about Tibs’ mother’s poor health, than it is to have all the attention revolving around Aurelius – especially when no-one knows how he died. The Ministry initially suspected Darius of killing him, because the Mudblood went public about their affair when he died, but then they saw the Dark Mark on his left forearm and discarded that theory. Luckily, no-one’s raided Tibs’ house yet, and while the same can't be said for Dionysus’ family manor, at least his mother hasn't had to endure Aurors or worse still, the Order of the Phoenix, rifling their mucky hands all over their personal possessions.

I feel someone’s hand take mine and quickly glance to my right to see Walden watching me with a concerned expression. He's a sweetheart, so concerned about my emotional state, but the fact remains that I don't need his reassurance. It's simple: Aurelius Nott had an affair with a Mudblood, the Dark Lord found out, he was killed as punishment for betraying the Dark Lord’s wishes. The only real loss sustained is that there's one less Death Eater in the world, and the Mudblood lives.

Everyone I know is convinced that the Dark Lord is going to win this war, that after decades of opposition, the pure-bloods will finally reign supreme and the Mudblood filth tainting our bloodlines will be obliterated. It's only Father’s sterling reputation as an Unspeakable and his close friendship with Augustus Rookwood that ensured he wasn't persecuted for being a half-blood, and that protection has been extended to me and my brothers. I wish I could be as confident as they are. All I see are Death Eaters dropping like flies, and the Order of the Phoenix recruiting new members on a daily basis.

The congregation begins to disperse and I let go of Walden’s hand. In a gap in the swarm of bodies surrounding us, I glimpse Regulus and his parents, Sirius noticeable by his absence.

“Posy,” Mother says quietly, “why don't you see if Tiberius would like some company?”

I’m sure that she intends for me to seek Tibs out alone, my support in his time of grief creating a foundation for love to blossom, but instead I motion for Walden to follow me and walk towards Regulus so that he can join us too. Since we were young children, we’ve always been a quartet: I don't intend for that to change. All the adults seem to think that the future will divide us, that once we graduate from school we’ll no longer be as close as we are – they've already started quizzing us on our future plans despite the fact that there's only one real course of action.

Just a few weeks ago, Professor Slughorn asked in careers advice meetings where the student saw themselves in five years. To no-one’s surprise, Tibs announced his political aspirations. Regulus admitted that he’d told Slughorn all he wants is to outshine Sirius, and confided in me that Walden’s planning our wedding – which will never happen, no matter what anyone says. I haven't had my meeting yet, thanks to a case of dragonpox and then by the time I recovered, I used O.W.L. revision as an excuse to reschedule it for the beginning of sixth year because I still have no idea what to tell him.

It’s not like I can say, “Professor Slughorn, I want to be a Death Eater,” despite the fact that that’s the only career path I can visualise. Father and my eldest brother Saturn have already joined the ranks, and while Baz isn't initiated, he's a supporter and his business involves a lot of Death Eater clientele; choosing to be anything else would be considered an outright betrayal. Linnaeus has brought enough shame on our family for that choice; I don't intend to follow in his footsteps. The trouble is, since the Dark Lord’s existence became public knowledge, _dozens_ of Death Eaters have been killed in the line of duty or arrested and sent to Azkaban. Only fourteen members of the Order of the Phoenix have died.

Which is how I know that in five years’ time, we’re all going to be dead.


End file.
